Secret Diary of a Man Whore
by Nina Windia
Summary: Edward is a high class prostitute walking the walk on the streets on Toe Nail Clippery. Chief Charlie Swan is the man in charge of taking the prostitution ring down. Could their chance encounter end in... love?
1. Five Dollar me Love you Long Time

**Secret Diary of a Man Whore**

**Chapter I- Five Dollar me Love you Long Time**

The first thing you need to know about me, is that I am a man whore.

Right now, I'm pressed up against Bella, and her body is trembling against me. I tangle my fingers in her corn-silk hair, face pressed against the smooth egg-white of her shoulder. I breathe in a deep breath of her scent.

"Edward!" she whispers, and her voice quivers through those two syllables. "I don't care if you're a vampire. I don't care if this is dangerous. I love you!"

"As I love you," I say, and her eyes flicker downward, a rosy blush on her human cheeks.

"You do?" she squeaks.

"Forever," I murmur, as I approach, her trembling, shaking lips...

BLEEP. THE TIME IS TWELVE O CLOCK.

I pull away nonchalantly, taking out my red contact lenses and popping out my pointed teeth. "See you next week," I say, throwing the words at her as I throw my jacket over my shoulder.

"Wait!" Squeaks Bella. "Please, Edward, wait. Can't I just have five more minutes?"

"Sorry honey, I've got another appointment," I say, patting her hair absently. Sullenly she hands me over the envelope. I check it discreetly; a crisp thousand dollars.

"You're going to see him, aren't you?" she says, bottom lip sticking out, trying to pout me into submission.

I want to tell her that honey, that's my trick, but I'm a professional, so as I sashay out the door I tell her simply, "Sorry. All my clients are confidential." I leave her having a tantrum on the bed, trying to murder a pillow through suffocation, mascara running like a river down her cheeks.

"I know you're going to see him!" she screams. "Edward you bitch I loooooooooooove you!"

Twenty minutes later, "him" aka, Jacob and are I doing it, doggy style.

Jacob is an old client of mine; he's like an old dog who refuses to learn any new tricks, who has that one place he likes scratched. Because week in week out he never gets bored of furry dog suits and being done in the arse by a man in a furry dog suit.

Well, what the customer wants, the customer gets.

"Huff huff HUFF AWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOO!" Jacob cries, as he comes.

Once we get our breath back I ask, "How'd you like to try something new, pup? I brought some new toys along..."

"Doggy chew toys?" he asks.

"Well, not quite..."

"Then no," he grunts. "Bend down."

Really! Old dog; old tricks!

So it's back to the furry suits with the easy access detachable butt-hatches (my sister Alice is _a genuis_) until Jacob gets tired humping my leg and we're lounging under the sheets, having a chat and a fag.

"So Jacob, dear, do tell me about what you've got planned for spring break."

*Grunt* "Kibble." *grunt."

Did I mention that Jacob is an excellent conversationalist?

"You should go." *grunt* "Dad's home."

"Oh! Billy. How is he?"

Actually, I don't need to ask. He's fine. Fine and _dandy_. I should know; yesterday we did triple penetration.

As I collect my clothes and money Billy winks at me on the way out. "I'll bring the fluffy handcuffs next time," he whispers.

Honestly, what are this generation _like_! The fathers are more adventureous than the sons!

Ahh, but it's tiring being such a man whore! I decide to meet my brother Jasper for some R & R. He's sitting in the upmarket cafe waiting for me, touching up his mascara. Let me tell you something about him; well, I am very _slightly_ camp, okay okay, alright then; very camp! But my brother Jasper is a total fruit. He's sitting there with his legs crossed, dressed as a Japanese school girl. Everyone's staring at him; he knows they're staring and he _loves_ it. Do you know, whe wanted to be an actor (he pronounces it Ack-TOR) but got told he was too gay for musical theatre. Hah!

I sit down and he says, "You look pooped. Let me get you a double mint choc sundae."

I tell him I don't want a double mint choc sundae, and he raises a plucked eyebrow and tells me everyone wants a double mint choc sundae, and then he orders me one anyway.

My brother is such a bitch!

I look him up and down; "Now let me guess..." I put an inquring finger to my lips, "Eric Yorkie, right?"

"Wrong, wrong, wrong as a roundabout! You've got two more guesses."

"Laurent?"

"Strike! One more and you're out."

"Harry Clearwater?"

"You're crazy! He likes school boys, not school girls."

He pauses, dramatically; Jasper is all about the dramatic pauses. Then he says; "It was _Sue _Clearwater."

"What! No way."

"I know! I couldn't believe it either!" We giggle, looking just like little schoolgirls; not that Jasper needs any help on that front! The family at the table opposite stares at us. Jasper uncrosses his legs, except his skirt has hitched up with all the laughing and they end up getting a panty shot. The woman starts screaming her head off and we run without paying, shrieking with laughter all the way down the street. We stumble over feather boas and Jasper trips over his sailor suit and we're laughing, laughing, laughing so hard.

"Oh my god!" I scream. "Jasper, you are such a _bitch_!"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	2. The name's Swan, Chief Swan

Just realised I didn't say hi to you folks in the last chapter! And I like to say hi. So… hi! This is another collaborative project between the brother-sister duo of myself and Hairy Buttocks. He provides the nonsense; I write the damn thing. As some of you might have noticed, the title is referencing a certain Bell de Jour book, and likewise Edward is full of his sex adventures. But this next chapter requires some explanation; the chapters will alternate between Edward and Charlie's POV, with the two characters meeting up soon. (Charlie thinks he's a private eye in a film noir, by the way!)

**Secret Diary of a Man Whore**

**Chapter 2- It's Swan. Chief Swan  
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The name's Swan. Chief Swan. And the first thing you need to know about me is that I don't take any crap- from anybody. Four weeks ago I transferred from the Arizona police department to the failing department in Toe Nail Clippery, Washington. Set under an almost constant drizzle, Toe Nail Clippery is a city of changing temperament. Thirty years ago it was a run down logging town; now it's a dazzling glass city, full of go-getters, would-be-somebody's and movie C stars, all sipping the same goddamn pink martinis. But Toe Nail Clippery has a dark side; a criminal ring in control of the whole city, led by just one man. Who? That's what I'm going to find out, even if it's the end of me.

There's three things that make my blood boil; moral corruption, a lack of respect, and when I walk into the office late and all the jelly donuts are already gone. I've got all three in my department. The men sit, eat donuts, and all around them let the city go to seed. And if they're going to sit and let the city go to seed, the least thing they could do is leave me a jelly donut. To do both is simply disrespectful, and I can stand disrespect!

The man in charge of tracking down the criminal ring is particularly useless man called Black. We call him Billy. Said he lost the use of his legs during the war, but I've got his measure. His FBI file says it happened during a striptease incident in Thailand. Every morning I ask him, "Anymore leads Billy?" and he smiles and shakes his head.

Plus I swear those pins on the board have moved around since yesterday.

Four weeks, and I haven't discovered a single fact about the ring. The office is empty; just me tapping away on a typewriter, swigging from a bottle of whisky. I sigh, and turn out the lights. Grabbing my fedora, I head home with my head hanging down, slick with the rain. The black and white streets shimmer under the streetlamps.

As I open the front door, I can hear Bella crying. I trudge to the kitchen and reach to top up my whisky. Bella's the daughter I had with my wife—no, that's ex-wife now. I take a huge swig. The rain is pounding down outside. I slump, my elbows and head on the table. My-ex wife, Renee…

"Dad?" I look up. Bella's there, standing in her flannel pajamas with her face caked with mascara. One of the thing I've never understood about women; why do they put the stuff on when they cry all the damn time?

"Not now Bells," I mumble.

She sits down quietly anyway, and we listen to the rain battering against the eves. It would only be peaceful, if I couldn't stop thinking about…

"Dad," she says suddenly, "I think my boyfriend is cheating on me… I don't know what to do."

Bells has a boyfriend?

She wrings her hands. "I met him soon after we got here. He goes to my school."

Something awful occurs to me. Is this… the relationship talk?

I only have two fears; feet (don't ask me why. I've already been through therapy about it; it's a childhood trauma) and the talk. And by the talk I mean, THE TALK.

Shit- shit-shit-shit.

I'd hoped I would never live long enough to see this day.

"Well," I say, steeling myself with half a bottle of whisky, "you'll… just have to sit down with him. Talk it through, and, er-"

"He's cheating on me with twenty-seven people," she says blandly.

I spit my drink all over the table.

"Twenty… seven?" I ask weakly.

She begins to cry again. "I took his phone- when- when he wasn't looking, and, and—" She thrusts the phone onto my hands. It's shocking, scrolling through all the flirtacious text messages, messages asking to meet up for sex—and from some very familiar names. One in particular drops my jaw to the ground.

_To Edward_

_From Billy Black_

_i've changed my mind baby. If U bring the nipple clamps I'l get the plunger xxx_

Bella is still trying to turn the kitchen table into a lake.

"Bells," I say slowly, "who did you say this belonged to?"

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Handle your own Nipple Electrocution Kit

**Secret Diary of a Man Whore**

**Chapter 3-**** Handle your own Nipple Electrocution Kit with Caution**

"Jesus's naughty knickerbockers!" I exclaim, throwing over the sofa the seventh pair of skinny jeans. "I've only gone and lost my fucking phone!"

My sister, Alice is nursing a hangover the size of a football player's ego. She touches her head, winces, and says, "I'll buy you a new one if you shut up for a second."

I zip up my mouth and am so silent you could hear the tulips growing.

A moment later she says, "Forget it. Talk. All this quiet is pissing me off even more." She stuffs two designs in my face. "Well?" she demands. "Which one?"

"Well…" at the slightest sign of my disapproval, she screws both up and slam dunks them in the bin. She stamps her foot with a little scream of rage.

"This morning. Sucks," she says. I whistle and stroll away into the kitchen. Alice is an artistic visionary; she designs naughty lingerie for the cat walk. A visiting designer had seen her scribbling lacy thongs at school and whisked her away to a conference in Paris. It's funny; if I drew naughty underpants at school, the teacher would probably whack me round the head with a ruler. Such much for equality, eh?

Now when I'm talking about artistic visionary, I'm not talking, nice, arty, slightly eccentric. Alice is a proper psycho. Seriously; mood swing city. No; mood swing city, on its period, after an eight hour hike. That's how much of a psycho she is. She's cranky now but yesterday she was out twirling like a ballerina and yelling how noisy the sun was. _Proper_ psycho, I tell you.

-Not that I'm saying I don't love her… She's fab, Alice is. Lovely. Just completely mental, that's all.

…And at the moment, wearing a telephone on her head… I'm sorry, as I was talking to you I drifted back into the living room, and now my sister's sporting a darling telephone hat. She pops out a contact mirror, admiring herself from different angles.

"I think it'll go great with the silk chemise," she chirps, and with that she cuts the wire to the receiver and goes dancing upstairs to call Jean Paul Gautier or somebody.

A moment later; "Edward! Why's the phone line down?"

So I've lost my phone, Alice has euthanized the home line for the sake of art, and I still don't know who my eleven o' clock appointment is. Then the shouting and banging starts upstairs, and I know Rosalie is awake. And when Rosalie is awake, she considers every moment not yattering on the phone a waste of her life.

She screams; "What happened to the phone?"

Me; "Alice snapped the cable."

Alice; "For art! A-R-T!"

Rosalie lets loose a stream of profanities that could make a man whore blush, and then Jasper appears round the corner with a hair in a turban and eyeliner on only one eye and says, "Hey, why's the hair dryer stopped working?" So I know that's been sacrificed to art, too.

Just a normal, ordinary run of the mill family, us!

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><p>Billy is really starting to piss me off. He already gets the half price cop discount, and although I admire his adventurousness, he's starting to get too rough for my liking. My buttocks are red rubbed raw from carpet burn and I've sores coming up all over the place from the furious plunging he gave me. Now while I completely condone sadomasochism, my body is the tool of my trade, and likewise must be kept in good working condition. Besides… there's only one person who can treat me rough, and I'm sorry Billy, but you're not it…<p>

"Billy," I say, chained to the bed while he takes the Stannah Stair lift upstairs to plug my nipples into the mains electric. "I'm not sure, but mightn't this be the _teenciest _bit unsafe?"

"Probably," laughs Billy, as he pulls himself out of the stair lift and attaches himself into a harness from the ceiling, which he can operate with pullies. "But I've always wanted to fry those freaky pink nipples of yours like omelettes."

Wonderful. Billy's gone completely insane.

"Hold on, I need the power adapter. Give me fifteen minutes; I think it's in the basement." He slowly, painstaking attaches himself to a zip wire, and flies downstairs.

"Great. Thanks fruitloop!" I call after him. So I've got fifteen till certain sensitive parts of my anatomy are sizzled like a sausage. Great. Just great.

But a girl's motto is; always be prepared. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, and it won't be the last. So with my little toenail I scrape the skeleton key from the inside of my batty crease, and retrieve it with my mouth.

I'll tell you what though; Billy's going to pay when I get out of here. No one- well, almost no one- damages my fragile person and gets away with it. And no one, I tell you, no one threatens my cute pink nipples and lives to tell the tale. Fuck with the man whore, and you'll fuck with more you want to fuck with, unless you just want a fuck, in case sure, because hell, I _am_ the man whore.

It's difficult. Billy's belts and buckles from his harness above the bed which he uses for zero-g sex keep getting in my way, but I'm just easing towards the first cuff when I hear the door bang. A cop with a fedora and a handlebar moustache is standing there, looking at me as though he's never seen a naked teenager with plunger marks handcuffed to the bed before.

"Hello," I chirp cheerily. "If you're looking for Billy he's in the basement about to send 120 volts to my nipples. He'll be back shortly. By the way, I don't suppose you could untie me?"

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

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><p><strong>Hello! If you have a particular character you'd like our resident man whore to bang, drop a review and let me know! I'm open to requests.<br>**


	4. Don't trust the Physically Handicapped

**Secret Diary of a Man Whore**

Chapter 4- Don't trust the Physically Handicapped

Now in this business I thought that I had seen it all; gorilla courtesans, a bomb in a piece of cathedral city, and a gang composed of vicious eight-year olds with a skipping rope. But turns out after twenty years in the business I'm still green, still don't know nothing at all, because the one thing I didn't expect to see when I busted into Billy's place was a naked boy, no more than seventeen, handcuffed to the bed with crocodile clips on his nipples.

"Hello!" he says, sounding bizarrely cheerful- perhaps the mental trauma has affected his brain. "If you're looking for Billy he's in the basement, trying to send 120 volts to my nipples. He'll be back shortly. By the way, I don't suppose you could untie me?"

Yes, definitely mental trauma. Poor kid. As I cross towards the bed to unlock his handcuffs, I notice strange red circles all over his body. What has Black been doing to him? The dirty bastard. I've always had my suspicions about him, but I never thought for one moment that… something like this…

After I undo his wrists, I kneel down beside him.

"Are you alright son?" I ask. My heart goes out to him. I know that he'll be inconsolable, that I can never undo what's happened to him, but…

"Fine and dandy!" he chirps.

Oh, the poor little guy.

"C'mon, let's get you out of here," I say. I toss him his clothes; for some reason, leather trousers and a muscle shirt, and we're about to leave when—

"Hold on a moment," the boy says, and he giggles. "I've always wanted to do this." There's a lot of fruit and vegetables on the dressing table. I wonder why, but then he picks up a watermelon and heaves it onto the bed. He sticks in the crocodile clips that were once clipped tightly onto his nipples.

"Found it!" Black yells from the downstairs. "Are you ready for the juice baby?"

He ushers me back out of the way and shouts, "Okay, give it to me. Fry those fuckers!"

Then the watermelon explodes.

It goes off with the force of a small bomb, splattering us with juicy chunks and shaking the house like an earthquake, subsiding with a small shudder.

A hint of nervousness in Black's voice; "Hey baby, are you alright? Baby?"

The boy stifles a giggle and tip toes out of the room and out onto the porch. We pause for a moment, and then Black wails; "Oh God, what have I done? Edward! Edwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard!"

Something strikes me.

"Might you in fact be, Edward?" I ask.

* * *

><p>At the ice cream parlour, trying to console the boy with four ice cream sundaes and a knickerbocker glory, Edward sobs out the whole awful, awful tale.<p>

"-And on the way home from school one day," he hiccups, "Billy Black pulled up and told me Mum had asked him to pick me up, and that he'd help carry my pasta pictures for arts class… and then," he takes a deep, shuddering breath, "he grabbed me and shoved me into the back of his van! And *sob* he made me d-do things for him, and for lots of different men. A-and, *hiccup* he told me that if I ever told anyone, he'd run my brothers and sisters down with his wheelchair!" Edward paused, and spooned down a whole sundae before continuing. "And then… when you came in, he said he'd got tired of my whining and that- that- he was going to k-k-kill me!"

Edward dissolves into floods of tears all over the table.

"That sick, twisted bastard!" I exclaim. "Don't worry kid; I'll call in a SWAT team and we'll take this scumbag in. You don't have to be molested anymore."

"T-thank God!" cries Edward, before he chirps, "Can I have a banana boat now?"

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

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><p><strong>Notes; <strong>Thanks HeyHey for the review! To your request about Esme as a client... well I had intended Esme to be his mother, but, hey, I guess I can still have it happen if you apprecaite that kind of thing. XD

If you've got the time, do drop us a review my poppets and let me know if you're enjoying the story so far. **  
><strong>


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